


Snowed In

by Aelia_D



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Half-orc, Het, M!OrcDB/F!Half-Orc, Oral Sex, Orc, Orsimer - Freeform, Rough Sex, Slow Build, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-03-05 06:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3110048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelia_D/pseuds/Aelia_D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Fill for the KinkMeme. </p><p>Riza is a half-Orc, and has always been an outsider. Orid is a reluctant Dovahkiin. When the two of them find themselves trapped together in a blizzard, they have a lot of time to fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You available for hire?” The rough voice startles Riza. She’s been waiting for _weeks_ for someone to hire her, and she’s gotten tired and complacent. She _should_ have been paying more attention to what was going on around her. But it’s _Whiterun_ and her greatest danger here is dying of boredom before she gets hired. She’s taken to lurking near the marketplace, 

She looks up, and her eyes travel the length of one very large, very well-built male Orc. He is clean, dressed in well-maintained armor-- a combination of steel and hide that practically gleams-- his hair is drawn back into a high tail. He is cleanshaven, his face painted with a pattern in blue. His tusks are unchipped, a rarity in adult male Orsimer. He’s so handsome she can hardly bear it, and Riza realizes instantly that she _wants_ him. 

“I charge 500 septims per week, plus meals, healing and other incidentals,” she responds, still looking him over. His lips twitch into a smirk, and one dark brow quirks at her. Her mouth goes dry. 

“Expensive. Why should I pay that much?” His voice is deep, rumbling, and lightly accented. She can’t place it though, it’s too elusive. 

“Because I’m the best.” Riza is confident of this; she knows her skills, knows she has become the best through years of training, and there are few in Skyrim who could stand against her in battle. 

“I’ll pay 400 per week, plus other expenses.” His mouth is still quirked into a smirk, and humor shines from his eyes. 

Riza doesn’t normally barter. She knows her worth, knows every septim is earned fair and square, but there’s something about the way he’s smiling down at her that tempts her to take the bait. She _wants_ to travel with him, and she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t even know his name.

“Five hundred, and not a septim less.” She informs him, a smile curving her own lips. 

“Four hundred fifty.” He crosses his arms, stares down at her. She briefly wonders if he’s enjoying this as much as she is. She lets the number hang between them, takes the opportunity to examine his face. His eyes are a rich brown, his lashes long. 

“Four hundred seventy-five,” she says, taking the bait. He extends his hand, palm open, ready to shake on it. She takes it. His hand dwarfs hers, it is rough and calloused, a warrior’s hand. Something flutters in her belly, and she wonders if she’s making a mistake.

“We leave tomorrow, an hour after dawn.” He says. “Do you have a mount?”

“I’ve a horse,” Riza says. “Stabled outside town.”

“Good. We’ll be gone for a week, so pack appropriately.” He hands her a pouch with coin, by weight she recognizes that it’s a fair amount of coin, but not her full week’s wage. “For supplies. You’ll get your pay once we’re on the road.” 

“Where are we headed?” Riza asks. 

“Can’t tell you until we’re on our way.” He responds. Riza pauses. What on earth could require such secrecy? And does she really want to be involved in it? The Orc continues, unaware of her thoughts. “Meet me at the stables. An hour after dawn.” 

“Can you at least tell me if we’re headed into the mountains? Do I need snow gear? I need _some_ information to prepare.” She doesn’t like going in blind, she wants information. Sometimes it is the difference between life and death. Her irritation is obvious in her voice, even she can hear it, but rather than angering him, it seemed to amuse him. 

“Yes snow. Yes mountains. It will be very cold. Prepare for that.” He turns to go. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Riza can’t help watching him leave, admiring his broad shoulders, the curve of his back, his ass. She doesn’t know what to make of him. He’s so neat, so clean. But he has a warrior’s hands. He’s built powerfully, and has clearly earned his muscles, and the scars that decorate his body. She wants to know so much more about him.

Starting with his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prompt:
> 
> "Long story short, this lady orc is too-orc to fit in with humans (eg: "Look at those tusks! I'd never let that near my pecker!") and too-human for the orcs (eg: "She hardly has any tusks at all!") and has endured mocking all her life. She didn't grow up in a Stronghold for whatever reason (thankfully?), and is now on her own, kicking ass.
> 
> Give me a sharp-tongued lady who doesn't believe this fullblood orc dude is really into her. Imagining one of the fine gents you meet outside the Strongholds (like maybe the smith in Markarth with the sister who is also a smith in Markarth?), whom we might expect to be more tolerant of her clearly half-blooded self.
> 
> And I want this orc dude to really go after her, and show her she's orc enough for him. Sexy, sweet, or whatever, just make it genuine."


	2. Chapter 2

“What should I call you, Boss?” Asks Riza when her employer arrives at the stables. She’s been waiting for a while. Her horse has been groomed and saddled. Her bags are balanced and loaded, resting on the ground by her feet. She’s been pretending to read a book to keep herself busy, but she’s been waiting not-so patiently for his arrival. 

“Orid,” he grunts, and immediately Riza recognizes that he is not a morning person. He’s scowling, squinting in the bright morning light. His cheeks are stubbly, and his hair is pulled back messily. He looks tired and grouchy.

And still she thinks he is disgustingly handsome. 

His bags are slung over his shoulder, and as soon as his horse is ready, he settles them across its back. He wears the same clean armor she has already seen, but he has added a greatsword, slung across his back, angled so he can draw it.

Personally, she prefers the Dwarven Battleaxe which she carries at her hip. Its weight makes her feel secure, and it is comfortable in her hand. Until she can smith her own axe, it is a worthy weapon. 

They get underway with minimal conversation. Orid sets a steady pace, leading Riza southeast, in the approximate direction of Riften. She wonders if this is their ultimate destination, or if he’s taking them on a roundabout path. 

A little after noon, they break for a meal. Orid passes her a bottle of ale and a chunk of bread wrapped around meat, cheese, and onion. It’s delicious, and for a few minutes as they eat. A few monosyllabic words are exchanged, hardly breaking the silence between them. 

In fact, the silence continues into the early afternoon, stretching and dragging on until it grates on Riza’s nerves. It’s too quiet, giving her too much time to think, too much time to doubt. She’s wondering if he’s regretting hiring her, or if he’s always this taciturn (and if he is, how she is going to stand it.) 

“So,” she says finally, needing to hear a voice, anything, really, to break the monotony of the forest noises, jingling tack, the rhythmic thud of horse-hooves.

“So?” He responds, turning in the saddle to glance at her. 

“Ah! He speaks! I was wondering if I’d get even a word out of you.” Riza laughs, and even hears Orid chuckle. She likes the sound, deep and rumbly. It makes her want to make him laugh more. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes and ducks his head a bit. “I don’t generally have company on the road.” 

“What made you change your mind then?” 

“Necessity,” Orid answers. There’s a beat of silence, and then he continues. “Also, I got tired of being alone.” 

It’s a startling admission. It makes Riza pause before responding. She’s known Orid for less than a full day and he’s already telling her personal things like that. She couldn’t imagine admitting something like that to anyone. And yet, he’s displaying a level of trust in her that makes her want to live up to the implied expectations. 

“Do you spend that much time out here alone?” 

“Yes. I sometimes go weeks between stops in towns and villages. I avoid the roads, circle the less traveled areas in the mountains and woods, dealing with bandits and infestations and the like.” He gestures ahead of them, toward the Throat of the World. “This time we’re headed somewhere just as rural, but also… more difficult to get to.” 

“We’re heading up the mountain?” She can’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. Orid is insane. He’s got to be. People don’t just go up the mountain. They don’t. Or, at least, they don’t go up the mountain without ensuring their affairs are in order in case they don’t make it back down.

Orid turns his horse, bringing it back around so he’s facing her, his horse so close to her own that their legs brush. 

“This is what I couldn’t tell you in town.” He glances around, and she tenses, waiting for insanity or violence. “The Greybeards have summoned me. I must head to High Hrothgar.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” Riza scoffs, unable to stop herself. It’s not that she has a deathwish, or wants to provoke the crazy man, but she can’t let it go. “The only person who--” The words die in her throat. She blinks rapidly, trying to process the enormity of her realization. “Wait. _You_ are the one who killed that dragon? _You’re_ the Dragonborn?” 

“Yes. Is that going to be a problem?” 

Riza just gapes for a minute, bewildered by the enormity of the situation. Orid just calmly smiles at her and lets her process. She’s agreed to travel with the Dragonborn. The _Dovahkin_ , the most dangerous person in Skyrim with the most dangerous job and she’s only making 475 septims a week? 

“I should have charged more.” 

Orid busts out in laughter, his head falling back and his shoulders shaking as his mirth echoes around them. It is a good laugh, from deep in his belly. He laughs freely, and it makes Riza smile in response. 

She wants to hear him laugh again.

Soon they’re moving, traveling toward Ivarstead, she now knows. It’s a small town she’s traveled through once, long ago. They’re mostly known for their milling, and very little happens there, so she hasn’t needed to travel through again. There are rumors of a haunting, but that’s all she remembers hearing about it recently.

Aside from the climb up the mountain, this _should_ be a fairly simple task. But she’s accompanying the Dragonborn, and so doesn’t hold much hope that her job is going to be as easy as it might otherwise be. From all she’s heard, the man is something of a magnet for trouble. 

And he’s been avoiding this trip for months. She remembers hearing the shout, echoing across the plains. Word had spread like wildfire. The Dragonborn was here. The Dovahkiin had survived Helgen. He had rescued this person. Helped that person. Dealt with these bandits and those bandits. The list of his good deeds went on and on and on. Some, at least, she knew to be trouble seeking him out. 

But the rest of it? Seems an awful lot like a man shirking his duty.

Riza hopes she’s wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

For the most part, Orid and Riza follow the road winding along beside the river. There are a few spots where they slow, or deviate from the road, taking a roundabout path to avoid things. At least, Riza’s pretty sure that’s what’s going on, but Orid doesn’t actually explain things to her. Besides, it’s a lovely path, and she’s enjoying the scenery. 

They’re climbing yet another hill, following a curve in the trail when Orid stops. He holds his hand up, gesturing for her to do the same, and she reins her horse in. He’s got his head cocked, and he’s scanning the woods, trying to spot something. The woods have gone silent, there is no birdsong, no sign of animal life whatsoever. Riza listens, trying to catch anything moving in the wood. There! Rustling and grunting, the sounds of something large moving in the trees. 

A troll. 

Riza is off her horse, axe in hand in a heartbeat. Orid is still scanning the woods, and she’s not sure that he’s seen it yet. Riza creeps forward, her eyes not leaving the troll. It doesn’t notice her until she’s nearly upon it. It lifts its head and sniffs loudly, turning slowly, its beady little eyes trying to spot the threat its nose has picked up. 

It turns and spots her just as she gets within reach of it. The creature swings wildly at her, its claws scratching along the steel protecting her belly. She slams her axe into its side, feeling the metal bite into it, shattering ribs and cutting through flesh. The troll bellows and swings again, and this time its claws manage to gouge her side, slicing through leather and into her skin. 

Orid shouts something, but she can’t hear him, and really, she’s got a bigger concern at the moment.

With a grunt of effort, and pain, she swings the axe again, this time decapitating the troll. It crumples. Riza looks around to be sure that there are no other threats in the immediate area. Seeing none, she lets herself relax. The adrenaline coursing through her system wanes and suddenly she can feel how bad her side hurts. 

“Riza!” Orid is just behind her. “How bad did it get you?”

“Don’t know,” she says, twisting to look and see. It’s caught her just below the steel, where she’s only protected by leather at her waist, and the damage looks bad. She’s going to have to take off the cuirass to deal with it. “Fuck.”

She unfastens the cuirass and pulls it off. Orid takes it from her. He stares at the wound, frowning, his brows drawn together. She glances down. The leather gambeson is bloodied and torn, but should be salvageable. With a shrug, she pulls that off, and hands it to Orid as well. 

Riza stands there, bare to the waist except for her breastband, and prods the wound gently. It bleeds freely, but doesn’t appear to be particularly severe. Riza glances up at Orid. He’s looking at her, but when her gaze catches his, he hurriedly looks away. She wonders at that briefly, but dismisses it just as quickly. He’s not some young, inexperienced lad, and she’s no great beauty. He was probably just looking for injuries and is now trying to preserve her modesty.

“Have you got a medkit in your bags?” Riza asks. 

“Yes?” He says, making a face of uncertainty. He carefully sets down Riza’s armor and then goes to rifle through his saddlebags. 

Orid returns quickly with a roll of gauze, a wad of clean tundra cotton, a waterskin, and a pot of salve. Riza rinses the wound herself, and wipes the area clean with a bit of the cotton. She’s about to pack the wound with the rest of the cotton when Orid holds out the salve, and she eyes it uncertainly. 

“It’s a simple healing salve, from the alchemist in Solitude.” He opens the lid and extends it toward her. “Works like a charm.”

“Oh fine.” Riza says, dipping her fingers into it and smearing it around the wound. 

“No, you’ve got to get it _on_ the cut, not just around it.” Orid dunks his own fingertips into it and reaches out to apply it himself before she realizes what he’s up to. His fingers brush against her gently, and it sends shocks like lightning along her skin. Her breath catches. He freezes.

Orid clears his throat, pulls his hand away, and then looks up at her. “Sorry, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.” She says. She can feel a flush heating her cheeks, and sees his skin darken ever so slightly.

“I-” He starts to say something, but pauses, and seems to rethink it. “I’ll just go put this away then. Let me know if you require any further assistance.” 

He hurries away, and Riza looks after him, bemused. What had that been about? 

She presses the clean wad of cotton over the salve, and then wraps the gauze around her middle a few times, applying as much pressure as is comfortable. Satisfied that it’s as good as it’s going to get, she ties a knot and trims the end.

She picks up her armor, and looks it over. Her it’s bloodied, but functional, and it’s done its job well. Her hard-earned septims were well-placed with this purchase, and now that it’s proven itself, she would be a fool to go without it. She pulls her gambeson on, settling it well before strapping the cuirass on over it once more. She swipes at the blood a bit with her hand, not expecting to clean it, but hoping to make it less obvious. Riza hardly wants to display her weakness to anyone the run into.

While she put her armor back on, Orid retrieved the horses. He holds hers while she mounts, watching her carefully. She’s amused; he’s obviously trying to ensure she is well without alerting her to that fact, but he is doing a terrible job of it. She catches his eye and smirks. He snorts.

“So I’m not subtle.How is your side?” He asks, having given up on stealthily checking on her.

“Not too bad.” Riza admits. It’s touching to think he cares, but she’s been injured worse. If he had paid even a little attention when he’d seen her earlier he would have seen the evidence of that written on her torso. “A bit sore, but nothing to be overly concerned with.” 

“We’ve got another hour or so to Ivarstead if we don’t push it too hard. Tell me if it hurts and we’ll take a break.” 

“Alright,” Riza agrees, though silently she promises herself that she will endure. She is not some weak little lass to be coddled. She is a warrior, and she will not complain over a _scratch_. 

They get underway, riding side-by-side on the broad trail. They move at a mere walk instead of the steady canter they’ve kept up most of the way so far. The forest is quiet and peaceful, and Riza begins to relax. 

“Why didn’t you ask for help?” Orid asks, interrupting the comfortable silence that has settled between them. 

“What?” Riza’s confusion must be clear on her face, because Orid glances at her and sighs.

“With the troll, Riza. Why didn’t you ask for help, or even just point it out?” She can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I know you can handle things like that, or I would never have hired you, but you’re no good to me dead.” 

“I-” she stops, realizing she’s about to make a feeble excuse. Something to justify running off after a troll alone. It’s foolish at best, and she knows this, but it doesn’t make his chastising her any easier to handle. She’s not sure why she ran after it alone, except that she’s so used to working by herself. “I am not accustomed to having assistance. I usually fight alone, because I’m hired to protect people who can’t protect themselves. It was stupid, and I won’t do it again.”

“Good.” He says, and that is the end of that conversation.


	4. Chapter 4

Ivarstead is as small and dingy as she remembers. It may be a major waypoint for pilgrims, but it boasts little more than a mill, an inn, and a cluster of homes. There is no town square, no cluster of merchants selling their wares. Riza takes in the tiny town as she follows Orid to the inn. They pass a garden, and what feels like most of the town on the way in. Riza doesn’t see any signs of a stable. She glances at Orid, hoping for clarification or direction.  
  
“You go ahead, I’ll take care of the horses and be in shortly,” he says, interpreting her look.   
  
“Are you sure?” Riza is torn. On the one hand, she aches something fierce and wants to be out of the saddle, sitting somewhere stationary for a few hours. On the other, Orid hired her to help, and she should earn her coin by handling things like this.   
  
“Yes,” He dismounts, and comes to hold her horse for her. “Please head inside. You’re hurt, and need to take care of yourself.”   
  
She still doesn’t see any sign of a stable, but Orid takes the horses and gestures for her to head into the Inn. He’s apparently been here before and knows what to do. She’s got the good sense to be grateful.  
  
The additional hour to town had seemed so minor at first, but wore on her, and now she aches. There’s a dull throb on her side and she longs for a hot bath and a soft bed. In a place like this, she’s not sure she’ll get either, but a girl can dream.  
  
Riza acquires a mug of ale, and claims a seat near the fire to wait for Orid. A bard warbles something nearby, her singing not particularly skilled, but not unpleasant, either. Riza’s eyelids grow heavy, and she considers allowing herself to nod off where she sits. She hopes Orid doesn’t take long, or she might find herself giving into the temptation.  
  
As if summoned by her thoughts, he appears in the doorway, carrying both their saddlebags easily. He nods to her in acknowledgement, then heads to speak to the Innkeeper. Words and coins are exchanged, and then Orid gestures at her to follow him. He leads her to a small room with two beds.  
  
“We’re sharing?” Riza can’t help eyeing the room with some concern. It’s not that she objects, exactly, she’s shared rooms and tents with past employers, but she’s never been as attracted to an employer as she is to Orid. That thought gives her pause. He  _is_ attractive, but she is also attract _ed_  and that is not the same thing. It’s much worse.   
  
“Aye, Apparently the Inn is nearly at capacity. It was this, or a room with a single bed.” He shrugs, dropping the bags inside the door, oblivious to her stress.  
  
“You couldn’t get that one as well?”  
  
“No,” Orid offers a tight smile. “It was this or that. There’s a woman who did not mind the trade, but by rights this was hers.”   
  
“Ah.” Riza shrugs, resigned to the fact that on their first night together she’ll be sharing a room with her new employer.  _At least I’ll have my own bed,_  she thinks, examining the room. It is small, but clean. Two single beds, a dresser, and an end table are all that furnishes the space. “I suppose we have no other option then.”

“I’m going to get us some dinner. Do you… need a moment?” He gestures vaguely to her side.  
  
“Yes, thank you.”  
  
He nods and leaves Riza to her own devices.   
  
She gingerly peels her armor off once more, twisting to see the wound. It is pink around the edges, already angry. She prods at it, and doesn’t dislodge anything from it. She wants to pack it with more salve, but it is packed in Orid’s bag, and she doesn’t know him well enough to go digging through his belongings.   
  
Instead, she re-wraps herself to the best of her ability, and drinks a healing potion to speed her recovery along. It eases the pain almost instantly, and mends her side some.   
  
Riza pulls a soft, loose shirt over her head, grateful that she does not need to wear her armor again tonight. Having felt the relief of removing the pressure from her wound does not make her overanxious to put it back on.   
  
When she exits the room, Orid glances up. there is a flash of something across his face, gone too quick for her to even begin to recognize it, and then he smiles, waving her over. There are two food laden plates and two mugs on the table. He waits for her to settle on the bench beside him before passing her a mug. She sniffs. More ale.   
  
“How is it?” He asks, and for the briefest moment she thinks he means the food-- still untouched on her plate-- before she realizes he’s asking about her side.   
  
“To be honest, I’m a little worried.” It takes a lot for her to admit to weakness, and though she knows Orid isn’t going to use it against her, she doesn’t like it. He trusted her earlier with the fact that he was lonely, and this isn’t a bigger thing than that. Not really.   
  
He pauses, his fork partway to his mouth. His eyebrows twitch upward and he looks at her, clearly asking her to elaborate.  
  
“It shows signs of mild infection.”   
  
“Would you…” he hesitates, “would it be okay if I look at it? Despite how I may have seemed earlier, I do have some experience healing.”   
  
“If you do not mind, I would appreciate it.” She smiles, and takes a long drink of ale. It’s good, smooth and rich, and it goes down easy. Too easy. Reluctantly she puts it down, remembering the last time she drank too much mead after an injury with blood loss. She consumes the grilled salmon and tomatoes on her plate, appreciating that the food is clearly fresh.   
  
She is comfortably full when she rises from the table. Orid stands when she does, and follows her back to their rented room. He shuts the door behind them, then turns to her.   
  
“Alright, let me see it.” He says. He lifts his bags onto the dresser and digs in to find the salve and his healing kit. Riza allows herself a moment to appreciate the way he moves. He’s broad and strong, but moves with a controlled grace that she thoroughly enjoys. Orid is different from most Orsimer that she has known, not just because he actually speaks to her as though she is a person.

He catches her staring, and quirks his brow, a smirk curving his lips. Riza shrugs unapologetically, a smile teasing her own lips. It would take a much stronger woman than her to resist staring a bit at someone as attractive as him, and she’s certain he knows it.   
  
Without further delay, she strips her shirt off, and unwinds the bandages she put on a mere half hour prior. The gauze sticks, and pulls off the scabs which had begun to form on the surface.   
  
“Hm,” Orid murmurs. He kneels beside her. “Lift your arm, please.”   
  
Riza obliges, raising her arm and resting it across the top of her head. With him below her like this, she can see threads of silver in his dark hair. There’s a scar bisecting his eyebrow, the skin the faded near-white of an old wound. She wants to know more about him, but shies away from asking him anything, afraid that he’ll take her interest as a reason to reciprocate with questions.  
  
He is gentle as he examines the wound, his fingers smoothing over the skin. Riza bites down on her lower lip, suppressing the shiver she feels in response to his touch. She doesn’t like reacting this strongly to Orid. In the past, she’s dealt with attraction like this with a quick tumble, or by getting the hell away. But Orid has hired her, so neither option is actually feasible.   
  
She closes her eyes and tries not to think about Orid, or the way his touch makes her feel.  
  
It doesn’t work.  
  
He applies salve, and it feels like a caress. Riza’s breath catches, and she doesn’t breathe as his fingertips glide across her side, applying the thick paste. When he stops, she opens her eyes and glances down. He’s watching her face, his expression impossible for her to identify. Orid holds her gaze for a heartbeat, his lips quirked into a strange smile.  
  
She licks her lips. His stare intensifies, taking on a predatory light.   
  
It takes effort to look away, but she does. The moment is tense, and Riza is feeling warring urges to fight him, to fuck him, and to run as fast as she can. None of those are acceptable options at this time. She focuses on that. Focuses on breathing in- one, two, three- and out- one, two, three- until she has calmed.   
  
“It doesn’t look too bad,” Orid says, breaking the silence. He sounds controlled, and she wonders if it is as much of a facade for him as it is for her right now.   
  
But no, she is a freak, and it is just wishful thinking. She knows this. Riza has heard what they say about her when they think she isn’t listening. They call her an abomination. They talk about how horrifying her tusks are. How small and human she is. How large and brutish she is. She’s never been  _enough_  for anyone, and thinking that it could be otherwise is just asking to be hurt.   
  
“I’m glad. I was worried, because of how fast it got red at the edge.”   
  
“It appears to just be irritated from your armor rubbing it.” He presses gauze to it once more. “Hold this while I get the first wrap on, please.”   
  
They focus on the mundane for the rest of the night, neither quite meeting the other’s eye. They talk of simple nothings as they prepare to sleep.   
  
Riza allows herself a few moments before she drifts off to sleep to think wishfully of how things could be different.   
  
If only.


	5. Chapter 5

Riza wakes with a gasp, her heart racing, and her muscles tight. She bolts upright, her hands groping for her axe, but she isn’t wearing it, and it’s not beside her. It makes her pause, confused. She  _never_  sleeps without her axe within arm’s reach. She breathes hard and looks around the room, trying to get her bearings.   
  
It comes back to her, little by little. She’s in Ivarstead, she’s working for the Dragonborn- Orid- who sleeps in a narrow bed an arms-breadth away from her. He snores lightly, dead to the world, and for that, she is grateful. Getting injured by that troll was humiliating enough. He doesn’t need to know about the nightmares.   
  
The inn is quiet, with the stillness that only descends late at night, after everyone has had their fill of food, company, and ale, and has found their beds. Orid’s breathing is still deep and even, the sound filling the room in an almost-comforting way.  
  
Still, the room feels almost claustrophobic. She needs to get out. Needs to breathe fresh air.   
  
She dresses with haste, skipping armor entirely, instead layering her clothing to keep herself warm in the frigid mountain air outside. She pulls her axe out from beneath the bed, and straps it in place, its comforting weight steadying her.   
  
Just a few minutes. That’s all she needs.   
  
With deliberate care, Riza manages to exit the room without disturbing the quiet.The fire in the hearth casts very little light, lengthening shadows and making the room look unfamiliar. Careful steps carry her across the room, winding around furniture and treading a safe path. She exits the Inn with a sigh of relief, settling at the top of the stairs furthest from the door.   
  
Riza needs the fresh air, but isn’t foolish enough to go looking for trouble. Instead she takes deep, calming breaths and watches the mist from her breath drift away in the dark night air. The town is blanketed in a peaceful kind of silence. It is the sound of a peaceful night, something she seldom gets to appreciate, and it is more unfamiliar than she would wish it to be.  
  
She tries to draw the feeling of calmness and peace into herself. It is something she is going to need in order to fulfill her contract with Orid. He unsettles her, leaves her feeling off balance, and throws her off in ways that are likely to be dangerous for both of them. She  _needs_  to control herself, and stop behaving like a hormonal adolescent.   
  
With every breath she tries to absorb the peace and quiet of the place. To draw her  _self_  in. To settle into her own skin as she hasn’t since she first encountered Orid. With every exhale she pushes out the stress, the pain, and the bad energy. She lets it all go.   
  
She still  _wants_  Orid, but it is bearable now.   
  
It is a clear night, and from this spot she can see a stretch of sky littered with stars. Riza allows herself a few moments to appreciate the beauty before she must head back in to get some rest.   
  
As she is about to rise and return to her room, she hears the soft swish of the door. She glances back, and recognizes the form silhouetted in the light.

“Riza?” Orid speaks in a near-whisper, “Are you well?”  
  
“Yes,” she responds just as quietly.   
  
“May I join you?”  
  
“Yes.”   
  
Orid crosses the porch in two strides, and settles down beside her. He leans back on his hands, his position mimicking hers. He tilts his head back, gazing at the stars in silence. His breathing is calm and even, the sound relaxing Riza further.   
  
“Is it anything you wish to talk about?” He asks, after several minutes have passed.   
  
“Not particularly.”   
  
“Alright then.”   
  
Riza returns her gaze to the stars. They are one of the constants in her life. No matter where she is, she knows the stars are there, filling the night sky with their beauty. She looks for the familiar shapes of the constellations, and lets her mind drift aimlessly over their stories. She can see the Warrior, guarding the stars, as always. She smiles. For year she wished that had been her birthsign. Sometimes, she still does.  
  
“I was born under the Lady,” Orid says, seeming to have followed a similar train of thought. “The twelfth of Hearthfire.”   
  
“Oh.” Riza considers this for a moment. She doesn’t generally rely on astrology, but in this case, it would certainly put an interesting perspective on what she knows of Orid so far. “I was born on the 31st of Evening Star.”   
  
“Under the Thief?”   
  
“Yes. My mother thought it a sign that I would follow my father’s footsteps.” If she keeps her gaze on the sky, she can pretend that she is not speaking of something that feels deeply personal. But in the dark night, with the chill air nipping at her nose and ears, and her breath drifting away in crystalline clouds, she thinks she can maybe speak of this a little. “He always wanted to die in battle, with his sword in his hand. Out in one glorious moment, fighting for something that mattered to him.   
  
“He got his wish.   
  
“It left Mother and I on our own though, and who would take in a lone woman with a half-breed brat? Eventually, we found someone who would. And she loved him as fiercely as she loved my father. I’ve two younger sisters, both as human as they come. Delicate and beautiful and everything I’m not.   
  
“I was getting older then. Harder to control, and constantly being compared to them didn’t help any of us. Outside the strongholds, they don’t know how to handle Orsimer, and for some time she thought of sending me back to my father’s people.  
  
“So, I left.”   
  
She dares to sneak a glance his way. He’s looking at her, but she can’t place the emotion she sees. It almost looks like admiration, but, it couldn’t be. She’s admitted nobody wanted her. The few times she’s said as much to others, she’s seen pity, or worse.   
  
He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but seems to change his mind. Instead, he offers her a smile.   
  
“Thank you for sharing that with me.” Orid rises with his usual controlled grace, and holds his hand out to her. “Lets get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Morning comes far too soon, and long before Riza feels ready for it, she’s bundled up and they’re making their way up the steps on foot, their horses safe and warm in Ivarstead. Snowflakes dance in the wind, which seems to blow from every direction. Her nose is cold enough that she’s fairly certain it’s going to fall off, and her cheeks sting, but they have a long way to go, and they have to reach the top of the mountain by evening, or they risk freezing to death.   
  
In ideal conditions, the climb would not be much of a challenge, but the weather is gods-cursed awful, and their pace is little more than a crawl. The Seven Thousand Steps are said to take a few hours to traverse, but they’ve been walking for at least three, and there’s no end in sight.   
  
Their midday meal is bread and meat that has been kept tucked inside Orid’s coat to prevent it from freezing. They walk while they eat it. It’s too cold to stop for extended periods of time, and they don’t want to lose time.   
  
“Think we’re about halfway there,” Orid grunts eventually.   
  
“Thank the gods,” Riza replies. Her side is throbbing, the constant movement of her body, and the way her armor shifts with each step irritates her wound. She longs to stop, but knows that they’ve got a ways to go before that’s going to be possible.   
  
Riza is negotiating a particularly icy step when she hears Orid shout something. She doesn’t quite catch the words, but there’s an urgency in his voice that makes her stomach clench. She’s reaching for her axe before she’s figured out what the threat is. She looks for Orid, and tries to spot what has his attention. A fully grown frost troll is charging at them, roaring its displeasure at their trespassing in its territory.  
  
Orid moves quickly, his greatsword in his hands as he runs toward the thing, slashing it and nearly slicing it in half before it can even swing at him. He’s graceful and deadly, and Riza can’t take her eyes off him as he recovers from his first strike and smoothly decapitates the beast.   
  
She’s impressed; it didn’t even manage to touch him.  
  
“I was just beginning to worry it was going to be boring.” He says, and then he grins at her.   
  
“It seems that there will always be enough trolls around to keep things interesting,” Riza replies quickly.  
  
Riza grins back at him. He’s a handsome devil, and he’s a thing of beauty in battle, and she does not need to go down this road with him, but his smile is infectious. Their eyes lock, and for a moment, Riza lets herself want. In another world, perhaps even she could have a man like Orid.  
  
She looks away, rifling through her bags for nothing in particular. She needs to stop, before this gets out of hand and she gets hurt again. Not that her impressions of Orid are bad. In fact, he  _seems_  too good to be true, and that is the problem.  
  
She pulls a cloth for blade-cleaning out of a belt-pouch and passes it to him silently. He nods at her in thanks, his smile wry. He wipes the flat of the blade on the cloth, removing most of the blood, and the chunks of troll flesh that clung to it. They don’t have time for more than the most minimal of maintenance, but with the worst of the gore removed, it can wait until later.   
  
“We should get moving.” He says, stuffing the cloth into one of his pockets. 

As they climb, the weather gets worse, the winds blowing stronger, the snow thicker. When she nearly loses sight of Orid for the second time, she pulls a length of rope out of her pack and ties them together, so at least if they get lost, they’ll be lost together. She burrows into her coat, pulling the furs tight against her skin, praying to whichever gods are listening that they find High Hrothgar before they die on the mountainside.  
  
Two hours after they kill the troll-- though it feels like much longer-- they reach the Greybeards’ monastery. They stagger up the stairs, and through the door, into the sanctuary of the elders on the mountain.   
  
Things after that move quickly. A pair of monks converge on them, and without speaking a word herd them into the monastery. She and Orid are stripped of their damp outer-layers. One of the men presses a bowl of stew into her hands, and she is bundled up in a thick fur blanket near a brazier. Orid is given similar treatment. When they’ve eaten and begun to thaw, they are led to a great room with a large table in the center. Pallets have been laid out for them, and another brazier has been set nearby, throwing off wonderful heat.   
  
Riza has just set down her pack near one of the makeshift beds when she hears the quiet shuffle of an approaching Greybeard. He nods to her, acknowledging her briefly, but speaks in a quiet murmur with Orid. The Orsimer nods at the monk, then glances over at Riza.  
  
“He needs to speak with me. Privately.” Orid says, exhaustion clear in the way he moves. “We are safe enough here. Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”   
  
“Alright,” Riza replies, too worn from the hike and the snow to be insulted or concerned.   
  
It is tempting to just collapse on the pile of furs, and nestle beneath the woolen blankets, but there are things Riza needs to tend to. She pulls up her shirt, exposing only as much skin as she must to access the bandages. Carefully she peels them off, and replaces them with clean cotton. She’s too tired to do more than that, but it should be enough to get her safely through the night.   
  
Content with the simple bandage change, Riza is  _done_. She wraps herself up in a blanket, and stretches out on the pallet. Normally, in a situation like this she’d have trouble sleeping; new and unfamiliar circumstances are not the easiest for getting rest. But tonight, she’s exhausted, and is asleep in no time.   
  
She wakes to a quiet rustling. Panic floods her system for a second, before she remembers that she is somewhere safe. Riza lifts her head, and looks for the source of the noise. A dark figure leans over the brazier, adding more coals.  
  
“It’s just me.” Orid says, his whisper loud in the silence of the monastery. “Go back to sleep.”   
  
“Mmmm,” she murmurs. If Orid is here, she doesn’t have to worry. Secure in that knowledge, she is already nestling back down under her blanket.   
  
“Goodnight, Riza.” He whispers, still fussing with the contents of the brazier.   
  
“G’night.” She replies. She watches him move as she waits for sleep to claim her. Apparently satisfied with the heat, he strips down to his undershirt, the thin cotton not enough to protect anyone but a full blooded Orc from the cold. When he moves toward his bed, he leaves her line of sight, though she can hear the rustle of fabric and fur as he settles into his own blankets.  
  
Feeling oddly content, Riza falls back asleep.   
  
The cold wakes Riza some time later. The brazier has burned low, barely throwing off heat, and the chill of the stone beneath her has seeped through the furs beneath her. She shivers, and wraps herself tighter in her blankets, but it doesn’t seem to help.   
  
Orid snores softly beside her, sprawled on his stomach, his pack beneath his head as a pillow. He is wrapped securely in his own blanket and seems to  _radiate_  warmth. It is tempting to curl up beside him and claim his warmth.   
  
For several minutes, she tries to resist, knowing that if she can just fall back asleep, she’ll be fine. But Riza is too cold, and can’t get comfortable. Finally, frustration and exhaustion lead her to boldness.

“Orid,” she whispers, poking him. “Orid, wake up.”   
  
He grunts, and squints at her, one dark brow twitching upward, seeming to ask her the question he’s too tired to vocalize.   
  
“I’m cold.” She says, scooting closer to him.   
  
“C’mere,” he murmurs, and rolls on his side, lifting the edge of his blanket and offering her a space.  
  
Riza doesn’t hesitate, sliding beneath the blanket and getting comfortable before he changes his mind. He settles, too, draping his arm over her and pulling her snug against him. He is as warm as he looked, and the shivering quickly subsides, leaving her warm and content.  
  
Before she knows she’s fallen asleep, Riza wakes. She’s still spooned up against Orid, he’s still got his arm wrapped around her, and his face is almost buried in her hair. Her nose is cold, and she knows that she’ll regret getting up within moments of doing so, but her bladder forces her to seek the facilities.   
  
Orid murmurs a protest, groggily blinking at her as she extricates herself from the bed to seek out the water closet. She hurries her task as much as possible, not enjoying the cold or the darkness in this unfamiliar space. The chill seeps through her clothes, leaving her shivering by the time she gets back to the hall.  
  
She is surprised to discover that Orid has risen enough to stir up the embers of the brazier and add more coal, and he has combined the pallets to offer them more padding. Her axe and his sword are both on the ground beside it, accessible should anything threaten them; more for peace of mind than actual potential danger.   
  
“We’ll both be warmer this way,” he says when he sees her examining the changes.   
  
When she doesn’t protest, he nods, and settles into the nest he’s made, leaving a space open for her. He catches her eye and pulls back the edge, inviting her to join him. She hesitates for only a second, afraid of how much she wants this. Really, she wants the intimacy such gestures might suggest, if necessity hadn’t pushed them to it. But she’ll settle for what she can get.   
  
She joins him under the blankets without comment, stretching out beside him. When she turns to face him, pressing her cold face against his warm chest, she can feel the rumble of his chuckle.   
  
“Goodnight, my little icicle,” he says, wrapping his arms around her once more.   
  
“Hmmph.” she grunts, more for show than from any real sense of indignation. She’s too cold and he’s too warm to make more than a token protest to the teasing endearment. Tomorrow she can remind him that she is his tough, strong, capable employee.   
  
Tonight, she just wants to enjoy this.   
  
She slides one hand up under his shirt and around his back, her fingers touching his bare skin. He stiffens in apparent surprise, but does not protest. Content with the contact, she lets herself relax into his embrace. It takes him a bit longer to relax, but he does, and soon they are both asleep. 


	7. Chapter 7

Riza wakes before Orid. He’s sprawled on his back, one arm flung above his head, the other curled around her. Her head rests on his arm, her back pressed against him. His hand rests on her belly, his warm skin contacting hers directly where her shirt has ridden up. 

It makes her chest ache with want. She longs for  _ this _ . The warmth, the safety, the intimacy. She wants  _ him.  _ It’s not just the vague concept of happiness, of love. It’s Orid in particular that she longs for.

But it’s not for her.  _ He’s _ not for her.

She’s a half-breed, and his employee, and even if that weren’t true, he’s the  _ Dragonborn _ . He’s walked straight out of legends and into Skyrim. Not only is he the Dragonborn, he’s the Thane of Whiterun and Markarth, and a member of the Companions. A mercenary, even one who is better than most, is nothing by comparison. She doesn’t need to be his equal- not that anyone could be- but she doesn’t want to be the lesser by so very much. 

For a few minutes, Riza allows herself to snuggle closer, to pretend that this is hers. She resists the urge to caress his cheek, but she still breathes deep, and enjoys the feeling. It’s nice. Fantasy is usually better than reality, but she suspects that with Orid, it’s the same. A hundred mornings together, a thousand, and she doesn’t think she’d get tired of this.

When her moments of fantasy are over, she extracts herself from Orid’s arms. She sits on the edge of the pallet, pulling her boots on. Orid groans, rolls over and squints at her.

“Morning,” He murmurs, his voice rough with sleep. 

“Morning,” Riza replies. She pulls on her outer layers of clothing, pretending not to notice Orid, who watches her quietly, stretched out on his side, his head propped up on one arm. 

“How is your side?” he asks. 

“It’s not bad, actually.” She moves slowly, stretching one arm up over her head, and twisting her torso. There isn’t pain, just stiffness Riza is careful not to look at him for more than a moment. She’s tempted to let her gaze linger on him, to imagine her hands skimming over the muscles his shirt clings to. 

Riza rises from the pallet, taking a few moments to dig through her bag, though there’s nothing she needs within. She needs a distraction from the temptation to stare at Orid.

“I’ll be meeting with the Greybeards most of today,” Orid warns her, finally standing. He strips his shirt off, and the motion grabs Riza’s attention. She can’t tear her gaze away from the trail of dark hair across his abs, leading down. He stretches at that point, arching his back and reaching up toward the ceiling. Riza runs her tongue along her lower lip, then bites it gently. 

He’s looking at her, she realizes. Her face colors and she jerks her gaze away, going back to digging through her bag. He saw her staring and she can just imagine the way he must feel about her right now. How unprofessional.

“I’ll keep myself busy,” she manages to say. Her voice isn’t the most level, but it could be worse. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

Riza hurries away, leaving Orid to sort himself out.

Behaving like a lovesick fool is not Riza’s habit, and she isn’t going to begin now. There are bigger concerns. She’s been hired to do a job, and in order to do it effectively, she needs to maintain her condition. There are exercises to be done, combat routines she can work through. If she’s busy, she won’t have time to mope. It only takes her a few minutes to find a relatively out of the way area.

Riza settles into her routine with ease, working through the different parts of her body, getting muscles warm and stretched. Her side aches, but she’s careful with it. It wouldn’t do to rip the scabs open, so she adjusts her warm-ups, and thinks about the modifications she’ll need to make to her fighting exercises. Her father, and some training masters he’d hired, had drilled these into her head. Martial dances, designed to ensure that attacks and defense were done without thought. 

She begins the steps of her empty-handed routine. Her body relaxes into the familiar rhythm, even with the adjustments she’s had to make for her injury.

“Practice will be the difference between life and death,” her father had said. What he hadn’t said that as a half-breed she would always be a target. Too small to truly hold her own against a fully trained Orsimer, but large enough that humans would work together to take her down. She’d been attacked and beaten time and time again by bullies of every race, until she’d learned to fight back. 

Riza switches to her axe. Works through drills with that. By the time she’s done, she wants to be too exhausted to think. She pushes her emotions aside and lets her mind go blank; this is all muscle memory. . Step, step, swing, step, block, step, step… she goes through the drill four times. Then she does it backwards.

It had been a love match, somehow, between her parents. Her father had abandoned his stronghold to be with her mother. It had been tolerated- barely- when it became known that her father was a talented mercenary and an incredible smith. His skills had value, so he was allowed to stay with his human partner and half-breed child. 

Half-mer children weren’t unheard of, but they were uncommon, and many could pass as full-blooded. Riza though, has always stood out. She’s too big to be a human woman. Not soft or squishy enough. Her skin is dark, tinged with the green of the Orcs. She’s broad-shouldered and quick-tempered like her Orcish kin. But she’s smaller than the average Orsimer. Her brow is smooth as a human’s. Her tusks too small, only showing when she smiles or bares her teeth. Her hair, too, is human; it’s deep brown, and left to its own devices it falls in soft waves. She keeps it braided tight and pinned up, where she doesn’t have to think of how it makes her stand out. 

Her life had been difficult, made harder by her heritage, but she’s worked hard to get where she is. Riza is arguably one of the best mercenaries in all of Skyrim, working for the Dragonborn himself. 

When she finally decides she is done, she is breathing hard, coated in sweat, and feeling weak and rubbery. She’s pushed it too hard today. She’ll pay for it later. But for the moment, it does what she needs. Her mind is blissfully blank. 

She seeks out a Greybeard, and is given a simple meal, and shown the location of a bathing room. The space is small, with a large hearth and a tub she’ll have to crouch in, but it’s still a luxury. She lights the fireplace to warm the room, fills the tub with water- the few trips to the indoor well are tortuous on her exhausted muscles- and casts a simple fire spell to heat it. 

Riza takes her time bathing, even going so far as to use the herbal soap she’d purchased many months ago from an alchemist in Solitude. It smells of tundra flowers, and berries, and it’s exactly the sort of treat she saves for the really rough days. The trip up the mountain is not the worst she has endured, but it certainly frustrates her. 

By the time she’s done bathing, she feels much more herself than she has in days. It doesn’t  _ matter _ that Orid is the Dragonborn. It doesn’t matter that she’s a half-blood mercenary. She’s the best at what she does, and she’ll keep him alive and healthy until he terminates their contract. Anything else that may happen between them is just a bonus. 

With her new perspective, Riza is almost  _ excited _ to see Orid again. It is perhaps because of this that she discovers he is nowhere to be found. Neither are the Greybeards, for that matter. After a quick peek out the door to what she presumes is a courtyard, though she can’t see more than a foot or two out due to the thick flurries of snow, Riza decides that whatever they are all doing, she needs no part of it. 

Having found herself alone, and with more time to kill, she sets up near a fireplace and mends her gear.The gambeson is simple enough, needing just some stitches to close up the hole. She takes time patching it, making sure the sides of the tear are snug, and everything is secure. It has saved her life once, and will likely do so again in the future. Sloppiness now could mean death.

The axe needs cleaning and honing, her cuirass needs to be cleaned, a few small dents need to be hammered out. She’s meticulous as she goes over it, scrubbing and oiling any rusty spot, ensuring that it’s as pristine as she can get it. 

Her stomach eventually alerts her to the fact that dinnertime is nearing. There’s still no sign of Orid, though she’s seen at least one Greybeard wander past. They all look the same, so she can’t say if it’s been one man a few times, or if they’re different people, but she’s not sure it matters. 

The smell of cooking food leads her to the stewpot. The old man hands her a bowl in silence.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, knowing she won’t get a response. Courtesy is courtesy though, and they’ve given her safe harbor in this blizzard. 

As she eats, more figures filter in. Eventually there’s four of them sitting around the cookfire, though still no Orid. It’s quiet, but peaceful, and though she’s finished eating her dinner, she doesn’t rise immediately. Instead, she enjoys the quality of the silence.    
  
“The _ Dovahkiin _ should return tonight, it is too cold for him to remain,” one of the Greybeards says. “Wulfgar will keep an eye out for him, to ensure he makes it.” 

“Ah, thank you for telling me.” Riza replies, realizing she doesn’t remember his name. 

“The rest of us shall retire, sleep well.” The man says. All but one rise and leave. The last man gives her a small smile before banking the fire under the cookpot and going about the cleanup routine. Riza takes this as her sign to leave. 

When she gets back to the space she and Orid are sharing, Riza realizes that the beds are still combined. There are a few moments where she debates pulling them apart and recovering some feeling of professional distance. But she remembers how cold the night was, and how warm Orid is, and she decides, probably selfishly, that she would rather keep them together. At least that way she can get some sleep. 

A small, traitorous part of her mind suggests that what she really wants isn’t  _ sleep _ , but she squashes that thought quickly. Expectations like that only ever lead to disappointment. 

Riza fishes a book out of her bag- one she would never admit to reading, and settles in under the blankets. Her head rests against her pack, and a small lantern rests beside it casting enough light on the pages that she can read. She’s absorbed in the story before she knows it.

A noise wakes Riza. 

She blinks a few times, realizing that she must have fallen asleep. Quiet footsteps break the relative silence of the room. It’s Orid, back for the night. 

His back is to her as he removes his light leather armor, setting it aside lightly. He tugs his shirt from his waistband, and pulls it over his head. Riza’s mouth goes dry as she watches the flex and stretch of him as he moves. His hands drop down to the tie of his pants.    
  
He glances her way quickly, and appears to decide she must still be sleeping, because he undoes his pants and pushes them down. He’s wearing nothing but his undergarments. Her eyes are riveted to him. She couldn’t look away for anything as he pulls out a pair of loose pants and tugs them on. Riza gently takes a breath, realizing that she’s been holding it.She’s too entranced watching him move to think about anything else. The light and shadows from the brazier beside her play across his muscles. He’s not smooth. He’s not pretty. But he is strong, and beautiful, and she doesn’t want to look away from him. 

Orid turns, looking at Riza. She closes her eyes quickly, and hopes he doesn’t notice she’s awake. His feet are quiet on the stone floor, but she hears him approach. He stands there for a moment before drawing her book out of her hands. Gods she forgot she had her book still. It’s clear he’s rifling through the pages, and he chuckles softly to himself after a moment, presumably when he discovers that she’s reading a romance story. 

Riza bites her tongue, and prays that her blush does not show in the dark. This isn’t how she pictured her evening going when she’d crawled in bed with a book. She hears him set it gently on the ground beside her. Hears him lift the lamp and snuff the flame within. With her eyes closed and her breathing carefully steady, she catches every little noise he makes. 

When he rounds the bed and lifts the covers, she feels the cool air against her skin, and can’t quite help the noise she makes. It’s something related to a gasp.  

“Shh, it’s just me,” he murmurs, sliding in beside her and drawing her body against his. “Here to keep you warm.” 

Riza tries to relax, but sleep is slow to claim her. She can’t get the image of Orid in the firelight out of her mind. 

Eventually though, she manages to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly two years later, there's more!
> 
> PS: Looking for a Beta reader. PM me if you're available to heeeeeeeeeeelp meeeeeeeeeeee.


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